Only Ever Yours (17 page)

May

Eight weeks until the Ceremony

I woke today and realized that I was counting in weeks now, not months, not years. Only eight weeks left. Only eight weeks until the Ceremony. Only eight weeks. The words keep dancing in my mind, getting jumbled up and confused.
Eight . . . Ceremony . . . Weeks . . . Eight . . . Left . . . Weeks . . . Until . . . Eight . . . Ceremony . . . Eight Weeks Left
.

“Are you excited?” natalie, a 12th year, asked while we lined up for the buffet at breakfast. Her dark hair is cut in a geometric bob, round brown eyes almost covered by thick bangs.

“Sure,” I replied, just like the final-year eves had told me when I was twelve and I screwed up enough courage to ask them the same question.

Were they lying too?

“But what do you and Darwin
do
?” megan asks on VideoChat. “He must have chosen you for Heavenly Seventy at least ten times.”

“We talk,” I answer, eyes flicking toward the corner of the screen at my video-feed. I have my hair half pinned up to show off my new feather-shaped earrings studded with amber stones. “I had to buy them for you,” Darwin had said as I put them on. “They reminded me of your eyes. You’re beautiful, freida.”

“But he
keeps
asking you.” Her voice is baffled, arched eyebrows almost reaching into her floral-print headscarf.

“We just talk.”

“For
seventy minutes
? About what?”

Everything. Anything. As soon as he enters the classroom he searches for me, smiling with relief when he finds me, and I can feel my jaw clench. Where would I be? I want to ask him. Where else could I
possibly
be? All throughout class I can feel his eyes on me. The other Inheritants are friendly, but they keep a respectful distance now. There have been no other sordid incidents with Abraham. Mahatma does not dare to even glance at his eFone during our Interactions. I catch some of them watching me with interest, no doubt wondering what he finds so captivating about me. And my fellow eves have never been nicer to me.

“I love your earrings!” jessie and liz squeal as we take our seats for Comparison Studies, their faces buried under layers of their new bronzing powder. It’s because of me, apparently.
The trend to look browner is because of
me
. “Where did you get them?”

“They were a gift,” I reply, raising my voice so isabel can hear. She’s not the only one who can get gifts, who can have secrets.

“It’s a done deal,” freja says at lunchtime, scrunching a napkin full of cheesy goo into her glass. “Darwin has chosen you.”

But he hasn’t. Not officially. There are still eight weeks left, eight weeks in which I could mess it up, eight weeks where this could all fall apart.

But from the outside it must indeed look like a “done deal.” chastity-ruth asks Darwin to make a selection for Heavenly Seventy, and every time I hold my breath, afraid that today is the day he’ll change his mind. I still feel shocked when he calls my name, even after all this time. There is a moment just as the door bolts behind us that we hesitate, each of us at either side of the cramped cupboard, a thick, heavy energy separating us. Will it be like we remembered? Did we imagine it all in the first place? Then we fall on each other, kissing hungrily, a heat uncoiling in my stomach and seeping into every cell of my body. We move apart, a little embarrassed by the intensity of whatever this thing is between us. He always breaks the silence first, asking question after question, determined to know everything about me, to “figure me out,” as he says.

“What was it like growing up in the School?” he asks, sliding down along the glass wall until he is sitting on the ground, pulling me down with him.

“It was fine,” I say vaguely, fixing the thigh-high slit in my maxi skirt. “We started at four.”

“Where were you before that?”

“The Nursery. I don’t remember much about it.” Indistinct images swim before me, each undercut with a core of familiarity. “But what about you?” I say, pushing the vision away. “It must have been fun growing up as a Judge’s son!”

“I don’t know about that,” he replies as I trace the skin around his eyes, the bruising long faded into a pale golden ring.

“Oh, come on.” I snuggle up closer, huddling into his armpit, the worn cotton of his sweatshirt soft against my cheek. He kisses the top of my head.

“It was okay.”

“Just okay?” I probe, keen to hear more about the new world I’m about to enter.

“The Euro-Zone is so small; everyone knows everyone else. I’ve always felt so visible—like because of who my dad is I have to be on my best behavior at all times.”

“Did your parents tell you that?”

“My mom says to be myself. That who I am is enough. Not to worry about what other people think of me.” He says this in a semi-mocking tone, as if it’s a joke, and I wonder if I should laugh. I try to imagine what it must be like to be told that who you are is enough, to have the permission to “be yourself.”

“She’s very beautiful, my mother,” he continues. “Even now. She’s nice as well. You’ll like her.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from grinning at his use of the future tense, the implicit promise in it.

“But my dad . . .” He stops, searching for the right words. “I want him to be proud of me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” I stay silent, afraid of saying the wrong thing. “My mother says he only wants the best for me,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s my own fault.”

“What’s your fault?” I ask softly.

“Nothing,” he says, pulling his knees in toward his chest. I rest my hand on the back of his head and he breathes in deeply. “He’s always telling me to be careful, to keep people at arm’s length,” he says in a rush, getting the words out before he can change his mind. “You know, to make sure that they don’t want to be my friend just because of who I am. Who he is, I guess.” Our eyes meet in the opposite wall. “He told me to be extra careful in here.”

“I can understand that. A lot of the girls here are very determined,” I say, my voice deliberately breezy to convey how different I am (
I am easygoing. I am always happy-go-lucky
.) and Darwin visibly relaxes.

“He said that once the eves knew I was a Judge’s son I would be an easy target.”

“I think it’s more to do with that fact you’re the best-looking out of the bunch,” I say cheekily, and he throws his head back in laughter.

I slink up the length of his body and kiss his neck, waiting for him to groan with pleasure. I keep waiting for him
to lose interest in me, but he doesn’t. He chooses me every time, again and again.

“You’re a good listener,” he tells me another day. I’m sitting in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, my heels kicked off and strewn by the door of the cupboard.

“I have practice,” I say, stroking his hair. “My sisters love to talk.”

“Your sisters?”

“The other eves.” I lean in to kiss him, inhaling his breath until he breaks off.

“I always wanted a brother.”

“Why? I think being an only child sounds perfect.” I think enviously of the undivided attention. “It makes you special.”

“You’re special.” He pushes my hair away and stares into my eyes. I kiss him again to hide my anxiety. When is he going to figure out that isn’t true? When will he realize how very far from special I really am?

“At least if I had a brother I would have someone to talk to,” Darwin says when we come up for air. “Someone who understands. I’d have someone I could trust not to gossip about family stuff. Discretion is really important to Dad; he’s always telling me not to air our dirty laundry in public. It doesn’t help when you want to make friends though.”

Maybe you’re better off, I think. You’re less likely to get hurt.

“But if I had a brother—”

“Why don’t you?” I interrupt without thinking, and I immediately apologize. “Sorry, that was rude of me.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He laughs. “I don’t know. My dad had two other companions before my mother. The first one was barren, they had to have an investigation into why she was ever issued her fertility certificate. She was sent to the pyre, naturally. The second companion lasted a little longer. She fell soon after the Ceremony.” He pauses thoughtfully. “The son’s name was Benjamin. He died two days after he was born.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know. Bad genes? Neglectful mothering? They couldn’t decide so the girl was sent Underground for testing. Then Dad chose my mother. They had hoped for more sons but she hasn’t fallen since me, and Dad said he couldn’t be bothered going through the hassle of getting a new companion.” I nod, wondering how much longer his mother has left before her Termination Date. “I have a lot to live up to. Only son and all that!” He shakes his head, pulling me closer to him. “I can’t believe I told you that. I’ve never told anyone.”

He begins to bring presents with him more frequently. A thick cuff with a faceted amber stone in the center follows the earrings. The download of an album by an obscure indie band from the Americas that I have never heard of.

“I love their music,” I lie, and his eyes light up in excitement. “Especially their earlier stuff.” We sit in the cupboard, sharing one set of earbuds, their “best song ever” threatening to split my eardrums in half. He bobs his head in time to the noise, stuffing his hands into the pouch at the front of yet another hooded sweatshirt.

“Like a kangaroo,” I say absentmindedly, pulling at the pocket.

“A kangaroo?” he asks, turning the music off. “How have you heard of kangaroos?”

“I, er, I watch the Nature Channel,” I reluctantly admit. “I like animals.”

“The Nature Channel?” he repeats, grabbing the nugget of information to store away for safe keeping. “Tell me more. I want to know everything.”

He’s wearing away at my resistance with all of his questions. He asks about isabel and I tell him I’m worried about her. He likes that; he seems to think this proves that I am a good person. I don’t tell him that isabel doesn’t want anything to do with me. I don’t tell him I’m afraid it’s because there is something rotting inside of me, something you can only smell if you get too close. I don’t tell him that she has broken my heart.

“Why is she isolating herself?” he asks. “It’s kind of you to be so concerned.”

“We were friends for years,” I say. “I can’t just stop caring overnight.”

However much I wish I could.

I turn the conversation back to him. He tells me about music he likes, movies he’s watched and novels he’s read. When I mention the confiscated picture books that I had looked at as a child, he smuggles in a collection of short stories. I hold the book in my hands, feeling the wafer thinness of the paper between my fingertips, examining the markings on the pages. He reads aloud to me, and it’s
like magic as he translates the squiggles into words, sentences, stories.

“I wish I could read too.”

“I’ll read to you whenever you want.” He tosses the book aside, kissing a trail from my ear to my cheek before claiming my mouth, erasing all my thoughts until I am lost and I don’t know where he ends and I begin. When he kisses me, I want to unzip his skin and step inside him, become a part of him so that we can be together forever, so that no one, not even the Father, could separate us. It’s when we stop kissing that the thoughts come back, sharpening their blades. His hands hover by my stomach, making achingly slow circles, lower and lower until he starts playing with the zipper on my skinny cord jeans.

“I can’t,” I say, hoping that he’ll try to persuade me to keep going.

“Are you sure?” His voice is husky, his body still pressed against mine, pushing me against the hard glass.

Of course I’m not sure.

“I’m sorry, Darwin.”

I would if I knew that it wouldn’t change how he felt about me. I would if I knew that he was going to choose me and make me a Judge’s companion.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. I can’t risk it.

He leans away from me and takes a couple of deep breaths.

“Have you ever done it before?” I ask him as I sit down, avoiding his eyes.

“Of course.”

“What age were you? What was it like?”

“What? The first time?”

I nod as he sits beside me, stretching his legs out parallel to mine.

“I was twelve. My dad organized an hour with a concubine for my birthday.”

I think back to when we celebrated our 12th design date. We were allowed to eat whatever food we wanted, stuffing our faces with sweeties and chocco and ice-kream. We all fell into a sugar coma when the lamps were turned off, rubbing our swollen bellies, only to be awoken at 4:30 a.m. for a three-hour gym session to atone for our sins.
Fat girls should be made obsolete. No will ever love a fat girl
.

“My mother thought it was too young, but my dad insisted,” he says. “Afterward he took me for beer. I started to feel really light-headed so I secretly dumped half of it into this plastic cactus next to our table.” His voice is becoming more and more animated as he tells the story. “The next morning he said he was satisfied with how I was shaping up, that I seemed able to handle both my beer and my women.”

“And how was it?”

“How was what?” he asks, happily lost in the memory of his dad’s approval.

“The sex,” I say impatiently, before controlling myself and smiling sweetly to disguise my flash of irritation.

“Oh yeah. It was fine. Good. She seemed to enjoy herself anyway. Are you jealous?” he crows delightedly as I
smile crookedly at him, my mouth tightening. “And I thought you didn’t care.”

“I’m not jealous,” I say, softening my voice. “All men go to concubines. It’s no big deal.”

“Of course not,” he says, his smile fading. “You’re not the jealous type.”

He holds me away from him, staring at me. No one has ever looked at me like that before, as if I’m everything they never knew they even wanted.

“You’re staring at her again!” cara pokes me and my spoon jolts, spilling cucumber soup down my dove-gray silk T-shirt.

“Be careful,” I bark at her, ignoring the girls’ surprised faces. They would be edgy too if they couldn’t sleep. I’m trying to wean myself off SleepSound. My recovery period is over so chastity-ruth is refusing to give me extra supplies anyway, and I’ve told chastity-anne I don’t want my normal dosage at night. Darwin hates people taking medication.